A Virtue of Necessity
by Laicamiel
Summary: Three weeks after her bitter parting from Percy, Penelope receives news of his death. Grieving, she must tell his family, without revealing her secret. But the Weasleys have never let anyone go easily. CWPC
1. Prologue

**Author Notes: **Hello everyone! I've had this story rolling around inside my head for quite awhile now, so while I was reluctant to post it before I finished my WIP, I finally gave in to the inevitable. So here you go. :)

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**A Virtue of Necessity**

**Prologue

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_July 1996_

Two sharp knocks roused me from my reverie.

I stood from my careful seat on the edge of the couch and walked to the door of my flat, heart pounding unmercifully. Reaching with a damp palm for the doorknob, I gripped it and twisted to the right, pulling the door open and pasting a shaky smile on my pale face.

"Hullo, Penny."

Percy stood before me with fiery hair that was the tiniest bit windblown, glasses glinting in the fluorescent lights of the hallway. He was grinning, and held a bouquet of bright flowers in one hand.

I smiled genuinely at him, reassured by the welcome sight. "Come in," I said with affection, stepping back from the doorway and letting him in. He swept by me and into the flat, walking with that proud gait he always had when he was particularly pleased with the world, chest puffing out and chin rising. It could be seen as pompous, I knew, if one were to glance only at the surface and not the insecure boy just below.

I thought it was sweet when he strutted.

"I have news," we both blurted out at once, Percy with exultation, my voice trembling with uncertainty. He didn't seem to notice my agitation, and beamed at me. I hadn't seen him this ecstatic since his appointment to Fudge's cabinet last year.

"You first, then," I urged with a half-hearted grin, wanting to postpone the moment of truth for as long as possible. Not that I doubted him of course, but…

"I've been promoted, Penny! To Fudge's personal assistant, starting next month." I stopped smiling abruptly, instead worrying my bottom lip between my teeth.

"But, Percy – wasn't Fudge discredited a fortnight ago? I mean, he denied You-Know-Who's return for so long. Do you really think it's wise to ally yourself with him at this point?"

He huffed out a breath, some of his good humour vanishing. "He's _still_ the Minister of Magic, Penelope." I winced at his use of my full name. "And he's admitted to making a mistake last year. Honestly, do you blame him, truly? Why would he take the word of a fourteen-year-old and a former Death Eater?"

"And Dumbledore," I reminded him pointedly. He flushed, looking away.

"Yes, well, he's a good Minister nonetheless. Isn't a man allowed to make a mistake once in his life?" He was looking at the flowers in his hand as he said this, worrying the petals on a yellow flower. A spark of hope ignited in my chest. Did he mean…?

"Percy?" I asked in breathless anticipation. "Percy, are you talking about your family? Maybe you can reconcile with them, now everything's out in the open?"

His face closed off immediately, and I fought the rising wave of disappointment. "No." he said sharply. "They do not understand, and they still work against Minister Fudge, even now that he's made a public statement. And they won't even…" his mouth tightened and he turned slightly toward the door. I realized we were still standing in the entryway to my flat. "I don't wish to discuss this."

I sighed. We'd had a spectacular row about this, once, when the rift between Percy and his family had first occurred. Percy had been adamant that he was doing the right thing, and I had been angry at him for putting his work before family. I knew first-hand how precious and fleeting familial ties could be. We had both been unwilling to compromise, and in the end I had left it, agreeing that we wouldn't speak of it again, for the sake of keeping the peace.

But now, things were different. I couldn't afford to stay silent under the circumstances; still, I decided to give it a bit of time before pushing him again.

"Are those for me?" I asked sweetly, gesturing to the multicoloured bouquet he gripped in his slender fingers.

He gave me a warm look. "And who else would they be for, my breathtaking daffodil?" I giggled at the silly name he had started calling me in our sixth year. Now it was a running joke between us.

"I don't so much as resemble a daffodil, Mr. Weasley, and you know it," I replied haughtily, and extended a hand for the flowers.

When the flowers had been trimmed and put in a vase on the kitchen table, I dropped next to him on the settee, where he was waiting patiently, nervousness attacking my stomach again with a vengeance.

"So?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow and a gentle look. "What's your news, Penny? Something good, I hope."

I laughed, and it was a little too high-pitched. "I think so, yes."

"Well?"

"I – er… well, you see…" I huffed with frustration and stared down at my hands, which were inexplicably gripping each other tightly in my lap.

"Spit it out, Daffy," he joked, but I detected a note of trepidation in his tone. I couldn't look at him.

_Now or never. _

"I'm pregnant," I blurted in a rush.

The small room rang with silence. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, and I raised my head slowly, dreading what I would find on his beloved face.

He sat still as stone, his face white and stunned, and I wondered if I had looked like that, when I'd been petrified. The moments stretched out between us. I swore I could hear my heart cracking in two. He moved away from me, to the end of the couch, and cleared his throat, once, twice. When he spoke, his voice was a weak shadow of itself, lacking its usual confidence.

"But we – it only happened once."

He made _it_ sound like an accident of sorts, a mistake. And it had been, in a way; neither of us had been ready and our relationship had been somewhat awkward since. I grimaced, although certain I had meant to smile. "You Weasley men are just too virile for your own good, I suppose," I said, my miserable attempt at humour falling to the floor and shattering there.

"Well, I – well." He seemed to come to a decision, and straightened before me, suddenly transforming back into my Percy, his face full of determination. I could have cried with the relief. "I'll pay for the termination procedure, of course, take you to St. Mungo's on the day. Just tell me when."

His voice rang with pompous assurance, and for the first time, I hated it, felt the coldness in his words, and the ice spread through my limbs and penetrated my heart.

_No. Oh no._

I gaped at him, every line of my face etched with pain and disbelief, and the dread I had held so close to my chest, that now had mutated into full-blown despair, threatened to bubble up and erupt in a piercing scream. I clamped my lips tightly shut and turned away from him, unable to look into that prissy face a moment longer.

"And what if I were to say that I don't want to terminate?" I asked him evenly.

He huffed out a breath, and I could hear the disbelief and panic in it – I knew him so well. "Penelope! Honestly now, don't be ridiculous. There's a war on, and I have important work to do… and besides, it would be highly improper for someone in _my_ position – "

Swinging from despair to white-hot anger in one hot second, I whirled on him. "Do you mean to tell me, Percy, that if I keep this baby, you won't marry me? That you'll allow your child to grow up a – a _bastard_?" He flinched at the harsh word, and so did I, inwardly; but I was far too angry to dwell on it.

"Well, I… we hadn't really made any plans, you know… and work – the Ministry takes up so much of my time…"

I stared at him, his shifty eyes skittering across the floor, his defensive posture, and I realized something with sudden clarity. "You never intended to marry me at all," I breathed in discovery. "You've been leading me by the nose this whole time! What kind of a Weasley _are_ you, anyway!"

This last accusation seemed to cut deepest, and I was viciously glad of it. He deserved it, not only for what he was doing to me, but for the pain he'd caused his family. It was a good thing, I supposed, that things were ending now between us; I'd gotten tired of tiptoeing around that invisible hippogriff in our relationship anyway.

He glared at me, red as his hair. "You see, that's exactly why I could never marry you. You just haven't the right outlook. It was all right when we were young and in love, but Penny" – here I saw a remnant of the earnest boy I'd fallen for – "great things are afoot, and I intend to take part in them. And that's something neither you nor my family understand. You just aren't the right sort of wife for a man like me." This last was said with such stiff pomposity that I wanted to strangle him.

I turned, walked to the kitchen, retrieved the fresh vase of flowers from the table, and upended it calmly on his head. He stared at me like a stunned fish, mouth agape, flowers in his dripping red hair.

"Get out of my home," I said in a voice cold with suppressed venom. "I don't _ever_ want to see you again."

I practically pushed him out the door, slamming it behind him, and then leaned against the cold wood and let the tears come.

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My first attempt at writing either Percy or Penelope, so I'd love any feedback on how I did, positive or negative. Take care guys! 


	2. Next of Kin

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A Virtue of Necessity  
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**Chapter One – Next of Kin

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I groaned from my position on the bathroom floor as a tapping noise echoed through the flat. Oh, lovely, I thought, still reeling from a particularly bad bout of morning sickness. I had stayed home from work, in fact, because lately it was more like round-the-clock sickness, and I was exhausted. I rose from the cold linoleum, cleaned myself up, and went to the living room to let the owl in.

The roll of creamy parchment was rather thick and official-looking, and I recognized the seal of the Ministry of Magic holding it closed. Frowning slightly, I broke the wax and unrolled the letter, feeling the slightest bit of unease curl in my belly. The letter was penned in an official script.

_Dear Miss Clearwater,_

_As the next of kin on file for one Mister Percy Weasley, Assistant to the Minister of Magic, you are hereby informed that Mister Weasley lost his life in the way of duty this afternoon at 4:35 pm. Please accept our deepest condolences on your loss. Our legal department will be in touch about compensation._

_Regards,_

_Evelyn Squire_

_Head of Personnel_

I stared in shock, the blood draining from my face. I dropped the letter on the carpet, stumbling back awkwardly and hitting the backs of my knees painfully on the coffee table.

Percy. _Dead. _

My mind refused to wrap around the concept. A burning pain jabbed at the vicinity of my heart, and I let out a cry at the incomprehensible tragedy. The utter irony.

I realized with perfect clarity that even now, three weeks after I had tossed him out of my flat, when he was dead by some unknown calamity, he was breaking my heart again. I loved him just as much as I always had, and it was burning a hole in my chest. _Oh Percy, you prat. Why did you have to die? Why couldn't I have gone on hating you from a distance, hearing about your exploits at the Ministry and feeling vindicated in my resentment?_

But if he'd had to pay for his sins of abandonment – of which there were many – he had paid them all with his awful death. I couldn't hate a dead man, couldn't even blame him. All I had left of the confused tangle of feelings labelled _Percy Weasley_ was the withered love that had once bloomed like daffodils, and the knowledge that the father of my child was gone forever.

I read the letter again, this time absorbing more than just the one damning phrase. _Next of kin_. The words jumped out at me like accusations, sharp reminders that I hadn't been anything of the sort, had no call to take the place of those who had the right of such a name. Those I would now have to inform of their prodigal son's death.

_Oh, God._

How was I to do that? I took a long, shuddering breath and went to wash my face and change out of my pyjamas. I hadn't got into Ravenclaw by procrastinating when there was work to be done. So I'd gird my loins, and get this awful duty out of the way as soon as I could.

-

I stood in the front yard of the Burrow, a place I had never seen, but which had taken on mythical proportions in my mind after countless descriptions from Percy. I knew he had missed the Burrow and what it represented fiercely, though he'd never admitted as much to me.

But it was just a house, after all, and a rather dilapidated and homely one at that. Still, it exuded an air of cheery welcome, and I felt somehow reassured by its ordinary appeal. I straightened my shoulders and made my way to the front door, mentally rehearsing a speech I knew I'd never give.

The door opened even before I could reach it, and a very harried looking Molly Weasley poked her head out at me.

"Yes?" she looked older than the last time I had seen her, waving off her children and their friends at Platform 9 ¾, at the beginning of my seventh year. Lines of worry were etched into a thinner face, and she looked run off her feet.

I smiled awkwardly. "My name is Penelope Clearwater," I started.

A loud voice came from somewhere beyond the doorway. "Oi! We aren't home to any of that wanker's friends!"

Mrs. Weasley's smile stiffened a bit, but she made no response to the unseen speaker.

I looked at my hands, but spoke clearly. "I understand why you might feel that way. But I think you'll want to hear me out regardless." My voice broke at the last word, my mouth twisted.

Her eyes narrowed in concern, and she took a closer look at me. She seemed to see for the first time my drawn features, my ravaged face. Her eyes softened, and she put an arm around me, drawing me into the house with her.

The interior of the Burrow was much as I expected; haphazard and homey. The house itself seemed to welcome a guest in like a loving mother. Passing into the house, I saw the unseen commentator to my right – a Weasley twin, I couldn't tell which. He glared at me. I ignored him.

Steered into the living room, I was confronted with a battered clock that had nine painted hands pointing straight up at _Mortal Peril_. Arthur's was on top, but I imagined Percy's was somewhere in there, never to move again. I wrenched my eyes away with a shiver, finding this Wizarding clock too much for my Muggle-born sensibilities.

Percy's mother sat me down on a squishy couch and hovered with the ease of long habit. "Will you have some tea, dear?" she asked politely.

"I – no, I – thank you, but I'm fine. Actually –" I twisted my hands in my lap and looked into Molly's perceptive brown eyes. "Won't you have a seat?"

Molly's smile disappeared, her expression grown grave with a mother's instinctive dread. She sat swiftly, gripping her skirt tightly. "What is it, Miss Clearwater?"

I looked down, finding it unbearable to look Percy's mother in the face while I – _Oh God_. "Well, the thing is, Mrs. Weasley –" I exhaled in a rush, then met Molly's eyes. "I haven't seen Percy in three weeks. We, er, we had an argument." Something seemed to catch in my throat, and I was suddenly unable to continue.

"Good on you, Penny!" crowed the twin from the corner. "I hope you gave Bighead Boy what for!" I glared in his direction. He rolled his eyes and turned away.

I returned my attention to Molly, who was giving me a sympathetic look. "What I wanted to tell you was – this morning I received a letter from the Ministry. It was for – next of kin," I said, whispering the last in an attempt to soften the blow. The unnamed twin made a rude sound. I felt awful having to tell Percy's mother that he had listed a stranger – to Molly, at least – as his closest family member. Finding it hard to breathe, I gave in to the inevitable, took the letter from my purse and handed it over, the last of my courage spent.

Molly took it with shaking hands, but I could tell from her expression that she had guessed its contents already.

I watched the strained eyes skim the page, saw the work-aged fingers let go, the paper falling to the carpet, a harsh cry punctuating its descent. Molly's kind face crumpled. Tears came again to my eyes, and I turned away from the awful sight of her grief.

I heard someone walk swiftly to Molly, heard her son doing his best to comfort her with unintelligible whispers – his gasp of shock as he read the letter.

God. I was really starting to hate the Ministry. At least the Muggle government would have sent the message in person – although that might even have been worse. A letter was somehow less demanding, a dumb, uncritical audience at the moment of breakage.

And I had both subjected Molly to my unwelcome presence _and_ brought the damning and damned letter. I felt awful, and trapped. What now? I couldn't exactly leave, after dropping this so abruptly on the Weasleys. But nor could I stay; I felt like an intruder, and had no right to witness this scene or the ones that would inevitably follow.

I finally looked up, not wanting to see their faces but unable to stop myself. The twin glared at me accusingly, and I didn't blame him; I saw in his pale face that he saw me as a physical representation of the bad news. And I hadn't exactly handled my role here with any kind of finesse – it had been awkward at best. Disastrous, if one were to be honest.

I stood so rapidly that it made my stomach tilt and whirl; I put a steadying hand to my abdomen and gulped the rising bile down. _Not here; I can't puke up my guts in Percy's mum's living room_, I thought with sick panic.

The twin's expression had changed to one of puzzled concern, telling me I had probably turned quite green. _Lovely._

"Er…" I started shakily, having no idea how to continue. _Excuse me, Mrs. Weasley, but your unborn grandchild has turned me into a puke machine, and can I leave now?_ I doubted that would go over well. And that reminded me of my so-far suppressed guilt over concealing said grandchild's existence from his own family. Percy certainly hadn't told them.

Molly had raised her head at my eloquent utterance, and now I stared into her grim and weary face. Molly was usually the kind of person whose constant activity caused the observer to forget her age in an orange whirl of energy; but now she sat hunched, shoulders slumped, and I could easily see the woman who had borne and raised seven children, who had just lost her third eldest for the second time. Lost him, this time, beyond all recovery. I wanted to sob myself, because I could see Molly was still incapable of it.

I had never felt so out of place in my life, not even on my first day at Platform 9 ¾ . I wanted to run from the vulnerability in Molly's stricken eyes; the unspoken resentment, the arrested grief.

I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed my purse from the seat next to me, banging it on my leg as I stood ungracefully, and fumbled it over my shoulder.

I took a couple of steps toward Molly, then faltered. "Mrs. Weasley, I'm – I'm so sorry, for everything. He did love you, even in the end –" I shut my eyes tightly, remembering the pain that would enter his eyes when he talked of his family – "more than he loved me, certainly. I feel awful that you had to find out like this." I stared miserably at my toes, my voice almost a whisper now. "If you'll excuse me."

It was cowardly of me to walk away, but I was too desperate for escape to try to salvage my dignity.

"Miss Clearwater – Penelope." I stopped, hating my instinctive acquiescence to authority. And Molly Weasley's voice carried authority with the natural ease of long habit. "Please stay, Penelope."

I turned.

Molly's eye's were sad and sincere. "We both loved Percy. Love him still. And I'd be honoured to have you stay for dinner."

I cursed my soft heart and suggestible nature, opening my mouth to form the protest that wouldn't quite come. "But –"

"After all," she cut me off with a bittersweet smile, "he chose you."

That shut me up. I followed her into the kitchen.

-

Dinner was deathly quiet; an extremely unusual occurrence in the Weasley household, according to Percy's complaints about life at the Burrow. They sat in bleak silence, avoiding one another's eyes and pushing food listlessly around on their plates. Arthur looked haggard and broken; layered over the grief was another sorrow, a sense that he had lost something essential he'd been waiting for, had been robbed of a chance he hadn't known he was counting on. Molly was pale and resolute, serving up the massive roast, mashed potatoes, beans and squash with grim determination. She had exhausted herself in the kitchen, cooking as if it would grant Percy eternal salvation. Fred, George, and Ronald were sullen and red-eyed, and Ginny looked simply – devastated. I remembered how she had come to Percy sobbing in her first year after I'd been petrified, grabbing him around the waist and soaking his school robes with her tears. He'd comforted her then, thinking she was homesick.

Bill and Charlie were absent, but I knew they'd soon be receiving the letters Arthur had scribbled and posted to them by express owl. Bill was a stranger to me, but I vaguely remembered Charlie as a red blur on a broom, wowing the crowd at Gryffindor Quidditch matches for my first four years of Hogwarts. Even the Ravenclaws had been impressed by his skill.

I still felt awkward despite Molly's invitation, which Arthur had immediately seconded after hearing the news. I was indecently glad that I hadn't had to witness the telling. Instead I had waited in the kitchen with my fingers clenched in my skirt, watching a dishtowel rooster strut circuits round his terrycloth yard. Until with his red-orange feathers he reminded me sharply of Percy and I had to turn away.

The meal ended as it had begun; painfully. I rose to help Molly with the dishes, but she waved me back down, motioning Ginny and Ron to go with her. The two youngest disappeared into the kitchen after her, presumably for a heart-to-heart with their mother. I was left at the table with Arthur, Fred and George, each of whom seemed to be in his own miserable fog.

I closed my eyes and wished I was home in bed. Abruptly, the small amount of food I'd forced down for politeness' sake revolted violently in my stomach, and I shot to my feet. "Excuse me," I gasped out, and ran from the room, heading for the washroom. I realized when I reached the hallway, however, that I had no idea where the damn thing was. Feeling very green, I fumbled guiltily at each door, heading up the stairs as I discovered only a closet on the first floor. Up the stairs to the first landing, where I pushed into the one door set into the wall – and stopped dead.

It was neat as a pin, no dust to be seen anywhere; it rather looked as if it was waiting for its owner to come back at any moment – that was Molly's heart showing. A line of trophies lined the wall. Academic awards given to one Percy Ignatius Weasley. His Prefect badge from fifth and sixth years; I wondered why he hadn't taken it with him. The room smelled like his sweaters, a mixture of old books and laundry soap.

I suddenly couldn't breathe, couldn't see for the tears clouding my vision. I rushed up the next short flight of stairs, opened the first door I saw and vomited into the basin, thanking God I had found the loo in time.

I put my elbows down on the counter and bent my head over them, sobbing hopelessly. My tears mixed with the bile in the basin, my mouth was sour and my head ached. I twisted the faucet blindly until water ran, rinsing my mouth with shaking hands.

_I can't do this._ I clenched my right fist in my thick hair, pulling, welcoming the pain. This at least was something I was inflicting on myself, that I didn't have to feel guilty about. My hand loosened, fell to the counter. I was whimpering now, not having the energy even to cry properly, weary down to my bones.

A muttered swear word sounded behind me. I turned, mortified.

And saw the blurred outline of a tall, lanky redhead standing in the doorway. My heart caught in my chest.

I reached out my hand, voice a broken whisper. "Percy."

He flinched. _Not Percy_, I realized even as I said his name. Ron, who had the same build and seemed to live in a far more dangerous world than the rest of his family. Though ironically, he hadn't been the first one to die.

_Shut up, Penelope._

I dropped my useless, reaching arm, feeling like a fool. "Sorry," I muttered as I bent to the sink and concentrated fiercely on washing my face.

"_I'm_ sorry," replied Ron, in a surprisingly deep voice. "I didn't mean to disturb you… I was coming up to write to Harry and Hermione, and I saw… Percy's door was –" he stopped abruptly.

I turned around. He was all elbows and knees, still at the gawky stage Percy had passed out of a couple of years ago. I had last seen him at the Yule Ball during the TriWizard Tournament, awkward in his shabby dress robes and his adolescent yearning for Hermione Granger. Now he had a man's voice, a man's body, but a boy's grief twisted his young face.

I could tell he wanted to leave, was aching to send off letters to his best friends, receive some reassurances. But he hesitated. "Are you all right?"

I put a hand to my stomach, and thought how my distress must be hurting the baby. I needed to be fine. I _was_ fine. I opened my mouth to tell Ron that.

"I'm pregnant," I blurted.

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Oh dear. :P  



	3. Conversations

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**A Virtue of Necessity**

**Chapter Two **–** Conversations**

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"_I'm pregnant."_

The words echoed in the small bathroom. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. How could I have been such an _idiot_?

Ron stared at me, shocked into silence. His mouth gaped open like that of a fish, and he looked from my face to my stomach and back again. I had the irrational urge to laugh hysterically, but managed to suppress it.

"Don't tell anyone," I said anxiously.

He looked puzzled. "What? Why not?" His brow cleared a bit in understanding. "Oh, so you're not keeping it."

I narrowed my eyes, hackles rising instinctively. "I _am_ keeping him."

He blinked, incredulous. "But how – what are you going to _do_?"

I studied my fingernails, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart. "Nothing outrageous. When he's born, I'll raise him."

"But – but you can't have a child without being married! You'll be labelled a – a scarlet woman! No one will hire you!"

I raised an eyebrow. "A 'scarlet woman'? Is that what _you_ think of me?"

"'Course not! Hermione would flay me!" He reddened at this admission. I hid my almost-smile behind my hand. He was too cute.

Sobering, I said, "Anyway, society's opinion of me is no reason to change my actions. That's no way to live life, ignoring your own beliefs to get approval from stuck-up establishment types."

"You mean like Percy?" he asked levelly, his ears red at the tips.

_Bloody hell_. I mentally revised my opinion of him – he was a nasty, sarcastic little bugger.

"I refuse to discuss Percy with you," I said coldly, and felt again the sudden wrenching loss, the shocking realization that my world no longer contained the insufferable prat.

Ron looked contrite now, and opened his mouth to say something, but I was in no mood to hear it. I held up my hand and turned away. "No. Please. I'm going home." I washed my face and smoothed my unruly hair, then pushed past him and down the stairs without giving him another glance. It was incredibly rude; somewhere inside me Proper Penelope was shrieking in horror, but at the moment I couldn't care less.

I made my excuses to rest of the family; I knew from the bathroom mirror that I looked pale and sickly, so I wasn't surprised when they made no protest. And honestly, I thought they were rather relieved to see me go.

Apparating back to my flat, I stripped to my underwear and crawled straight into bed, miserable and exhausted. But sleep did not come easily, and when I finally succumbed, I tossed and turned until dawn, haunted by visions of my Percy dying in a million gruesome ways.

-

The next morning I remembered I had an appointment for my first prenatal check-up. I'd scheduled it a week previous, but now I dreaded going. It had been bad enough when I'd been pregnant, abandoned and heartbroken; now I was all that and moving through a thick sludge of grief.

The Obstetric Wing at St. Mungo's was rather quiet compared to the rest of the hospital; there were no curse victims running around with their heads on fire, or frantic families trying to find their ailing loved ones. Instead the waiting room was decorated in a suffocating muted pink, rosy-cheeked babies lolling sweetly in the various portraits on the walls, women in various stages of pregnancy and motherhood reclining on its surprisingly comfortable couches. Some of them had dragged their husbands along, and I suppressed a pang at the empty chair beside me. Magazines with titles like _Little Wizards_ and _Magical Baby Care_ littered the tables, each glossy cover sporting a gap-toothed, adorable toddler.

It all seemed so absurdly normal. But then, women have been becoming mothers since the beginning of time – it shouldn't have surprised me that at a time when I had been struck so hard by death, life was still being created; was, indeed, thriving. Even inside of me, surreal as that might seem.

"Clearwater," called the nurse. I blinked out of my reverie and stood to follow her into the back. She sat me down in a small room with a gurney and a desk in it, and I nervously gripped the sides of the hard plastic chair as I answered her routine questions – age, height, weight… marital status.

She gave me a toothy smile. "The Healer will be with you in a moment." With that characteristically vague assurance, she picked up my chart and left, shutting the door behind her. I made a face; in my experience, this was the one area Healers were exactly like their Muggle counterparts – making patients wait for interminable periods of time, both in the waiting room and the exam room.

I'd almost made up my mind to sod it and leave when then Healer came in. She was a tall, raw-boned witch with blonde hair in a neat bun, carrying herself in a dignified manner that gave her lime green robes surprising class.

"Hello, Ms. Clearwater. I'm Healer Stanwick. What can I do for you today?" She smiled, but not as unnervingly wide as her nurse. I gave her a nervous twitch of the lips back.

"Well, I just found out – well, three weeks ago, actually," I said, blushing guiltily and looking down, "that I'm pregnant."

"Congratulations," she said warmly. "Will this be your first?"

"Yes," I whispered, struck suddenly by how drastically my life was about to change.

She smiled, seeming to understand. "Well, the first thing we'll do is confirm the diagnosis, and then we'll determine how far along you are. Roll up your sleeve, please."

Once I had bared my arm, she took a slender wand from her pocket and pressed its tapered end on the vein at my inner elbow, murmuring a spell. I gasped – it was the oddest sensation, as if a bolt of magic had gone through my skin and into my vein, and just as quickly been sucked out, flashing a brilliant gold as it exited my arm.

Healer Stanwick smiled. "Well, you're definitely pregnant." Indeed. This was certainly a more dazzling way to find out than the piddling-in-a-cup routine.

She waved her wand in swift patterns over my abdomen, observing the intricate dance of coloured lights play over and under each other as they emerged from her wand. They must have been conveying some sort of information, because she was scribbling furiously (and illegibly) on my chart with her other hand. I hid my amusement at her stereotypically atrocious writing.

I was relieved when she finally put away her wand and looked at me; I'd begun to feel more like some laboratory animal than a person. "You're six weeks pregnant, approximately," she said crisply. "The child was conceived on June 17th, 1996."

I blushed at the memories that date brought back, horrified that she could pinpoint the exact day we had – ! "How did you know that?" I squeaked.

Stanwick seemed startled for a moment before her expression cleared. "You must be Muggle-born." I was about to retort nastily that _Yes, I am, and do you have a problem with that?_ when I realized her face held no disdain. I nodded instead. "Muggle technology can only measure the age of a foetus by its size and stage of development; since all foetuses don't grow at the same rate, this is essentially an estimated measure. But with magic we can actually detect the life-force itself, and determine exactly how long it has been present. So, we can measure the exact age and date of conception. Pretty neat, eh?" She grinned. "I'm Muggle-born too."

By the end of the appointment I felt much more comfortable with Healer Stanwick; her friendly, capable and down-to-earth manner was very reassuring. She gave me all sorts of advice – what to watch out for, what to eat, what to avoid and what to expect; along with a prescription for an anti-emetic potion, for the morning sickness, which I could buy ready-made at the apothecary. She was winding down when I finally screwed up enough courage to ask the question I'd been bursting with from the start.

"Healer Stanwick?"

"Yes, Ms. Clearwater?"

I twisted my hands together. "You said that… that stress isn't good for my baby, but what if I can't avoid it? What kind of effects can it have on an unborn child?"

She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean, you can't avoid it? May I ask what exactly is causing you stress? Healer-patient confidentiality," she said with a grin.

I licked my lips nervously, hesitating, then plunged into my tale. I found myself telling her everything, about my argument with Percy and its fallout; the shocking blow of his death and the burden of having to tell his estranged family; the feeling that everything was slipping away from me, and the fear that I was in no way ready to care for the baby I already loved fiercely. I had been bottling all this up for so long, with no one to share it with – my parents were gone, my classmates drifted away since graduation and the start of the war. I no longer had any confidants; all of my friends from Hogwarts either couldn't stand Percy, or had disappeared in the frightened whirlwind which marked the beginning of the Second War. Now, I had found someone I knew instinctively I could trust, who would be an impartial audience, and it all came spilling from my mouth in a jumbled rush.

By the time I'd finished, my face was wet and Healer Stanwick was looking at me with sympathy. "You've just been dealt quite a few blows in a short space of time, and I won't lie to you – it's going to be difficult. But you're a strong woman, Ms. Clearwater, to have come through all this and be taking the harder road, deciding to have your child and raise it yourself. You will have to face devastating grief. I can't guarantee there will be no effect on the baby, but the situation is out of your control. What you can do, however, is to rest as much as possible, work fewer hours if you can afford it, and surround yourself with people who love you. The last is most important, Penelope. You need the support of your family right now – you shouldn't be alone."

I frowned into my lap. "But I don't have any family… or friends. My parents died two years ago, and since then Percy's been my only support." I shrugged helplessly, unable to meet her eyes after admitting to such a pathetic life.

There was a short silence from the Healer. Then she spoke, gently. "What about Percy's family? Do they know that you're expecting his child?" I shook my head, face burning. "Perhaps you should tell them, then," she said kindly. "Perhaps his mother needs this child as much as you do. Maybe concentrating on the lives Percy left behind will help her to deal with her grief at missing _his_ life. It could be a healing for both of you."

I looked up, finally, and saw the face that had probably delivered a hundred babies, and counselled as many women sitting before her in this very office. I felt the confidence in her words slowly seep into me, strengthening my own will.

I smiled fully. "Thank you."

She seemed to understand everything I had tried to invest in those two words.

-

Dragging myself to work was an unanticipated ordeal. Added to the nausea and fatigue I had already been dealing with for three weeks was a new heaviness; the fog of grief hung dark and oppressive over everything I did, making the simplest tasks seem insurmountable. Every once in a while I would have debilitating fits of intense loss, during which I would hunch over and gasp for breath, understanding for the first time what was meant by pain in the soul.

I somehow dressed myself in my work robes and Flooed to the Ministry, making my way from the Atrium to my office in the Department of Magical Transportation in a blur of multicoloured robes and chattering faces. It was more a cubicle than an office, actually, as I was as yet a very junior member of the staff – but it was better than being in the cramped and busy way-station termed the Hub, where a constant chaos reigned. Wizards, witches and various other magical beings were coming and going at all hours with various gripes for the Department, the sub-departments of which were situated around the edges of the large room. As I passed through, a tall witch in chartreuse robe was shaking her fist at a cowed-looking Complaint Clerk, shrilly demanding that her broom be returned to her, and that she "nev'r drank a drop since last Thursday!"

I worked for Beatrix Ermtraud, head of the Floo Regulation Panel, whose desk sat in front of a massive map of Britain in a glassed-in office. The map showed the intricate Floo Network in vibrant green, lights constantly flashing in a firefly pattern over its surface as it monitored travel activity. It was fascinating.

I, however, usually was not at leisure to stare at it; my job was to evaluate Floo requisitions and connect fireplaces to the Network. Needless to say, it was highly repetitive work and dead boring. The girl who worked in the cubicle across from mine, Sarah Wheeling, worked for the Floo Network Authority, and had a far more exciting job. She monitored and maintained the Floo Network along with two other people, and constantly had a rushed air about her. I supposed it was a difficult job, making sure the Network wasn't being used illegally or inappropriately. They had the ability to eavesdrop on Floo conversations too, the spell for which was a highly guarded secret unknown even to the rest of the DMT.

This particular morning, I had barely sat down at my desk when Sarah hurried over from her cubicle, hair flying. "Penelope! The Portkey Office needs our help, a group of baby mandrakes have been turned into Portkeys and it's chaos, everyone who hears them shriek gets knocked out and sent to Leicestershire!"

I blinked at her. She was generally excitable and scatterbrained, but this was a bit much even for her, and it took me a moment to process her dire pronouncements. "Good morning to you too, Sarah," I responded weakly.

She paused in her frantic wringing of hands and tipped her head to look at me. "I say, Penelope, are you feeling well?"

I swallowed hard and tried to look untroubled. "Oh, yes… same bug I've had for the last week, I think, haven't been able to shake it. I am feeling a bit better, though." I gave her a wan smile, hoping the excuse I had been using to explain my morning sickness would hold for one more day. "So, they need an extra hand for this mandrake crisis, eh? How can I help?"

This thankfully diverted her, and she was off with a fresh barrage of jumbled words explaining the situation. The next three hours passed in a pleasant blur of activity, a welcome change from the monotony of approving and facilitating new connections. The next time I looked at my watch it was quarter past twelve, and half of the Department had gone on its lunch break. The rest of us would take the second shift at one o'clock, in order to keep the offices staffed during the midday rush.

I realized, to my surprise, that I had been too busy to think about Percy all morning, and resolved to work twice as hard in future if it could give me some relief from the overwhelming shadow of my grief. That way I could pretend I had simply dumped him, and that yesterday afternoon with its fateful news had never happened. I was just filing some Floo requisition forms when a voice called my name.

I raised my head to see a large man standing before my desk. "Yes? How can I help you?"

He narrowed his eyes at my polite response. Smoothing his expensive-looking robes, the man said slowly, "Oh, well. I simply wanted to offer my condolences on your recent… loss." Something in the way he said it, low and almost sibilant at the end, made me push my chair back a bit on its silent wheels, though he had made no move to come closer. He spoke with surprising malevolence for a stranger, and I looked closely at him to make sure I hadn't met him before. He had smoothly combed black hair with distinguished-looking white streaks, sharp black eyes, a craggy face which could have been aged anywhere from forty to sixty, and a proud, hostile bearing.

More than the belligerence which was positively emanating from him, however, I found one thing extremely alarming: _how_ did he know about Percy's death? After a lengthy pause, I extended my hand and said, "Thank you. I don't think I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance."

He looked down at me with disdain, ruthlessly ignoring my gesture. "No, you have not. And nor will you. Good day." After spitting this insult at me, he turned on his (expensive) heel and swept out, leaving me gaping after him, my hand suspended uselessly in the air.

-

When I got home that afternoon I was so tired I fell into bed in my work clothes and slept hard for an hour. I'd been sleeping much more lately – it was as if the baby was sucking all my strength into my middle, leaving the rest of me in a drowsy stupor. I imagined my uterus as a glowing ball of energy, a new, delicate life blooming inside its protective halo. Remembering my father's medical texts, I wondered if the process of growth from embryo to foetus was any different in witches due to the faint pulse of magic in our every cell.

When I woke, having dreamed of pink baby skin, red hair and broken flowers, it took me a moment to realize that an owl was tapping on my window. I rose groggily and went to let it in, rubbing my eyes and yawning. The owl was a round, fluffy thing with bright eyes, and it nuzzled me as I untied the letter from its foot. The note itself wasted no words.

_Dearest Penelope,_

_Will you come to the Burrow tonight for dinner? It would comfort me greatly to have you here, and there is something I would like to discuss with you. Be there at seven._

_Love,_

_Molly_

I swallowed. Something she wanted to discuss? That sounded rather ominous. For a moment I was certain that Ron had told his family my secret, and I stiffened with righteous anger. _But then_, I thought, taking a deep breath, _he _is_ the best friend of Harry Potter – and God only knows how many secrets those three have kept over the years_. Perhaps he hadn't sold me out. I sighed and looked down at the parchment. I knew I'd have to go.

It was time to tell them the truth.

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And it's time for _you _to review. :) 


	4. Disclosure

**Author's Note:** So, so sorry for the long delay in updating. I've moved twice and been very sick since I posted the last chapter, not to mention the semester started with all its time-consuming demands. Enjoy!

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**A Virtue of Necessity**

**Chapter Three – Disclosure**

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I arrived at the Burrow promptly at seven, and knocked on the wooden door with a horrid sick feeling in my stomach. Molly opened it right away, a painful-looking smile on her worn face. My heart clenched a bit as I recalled my hand in her grief. I swallowed and greeted her with my best effort at a smile, following her into the delicious-smelling house. 

It seemed that the whole family had gathered, even adopted Weasleys Harry and Hermione. I saw a tall redhead that I assumed to be Bill, whom Percy had gone to visit in Egypt that one summer. I couldn't meet their eyes, and followed Molly into the kitchen with a murmured greeting. I felt the fire of Ron's accusing gaze heat my face as I passed him.

I set the table and watched pots for Molly, all the while telling myself I'd wait – I didn't want to ruin their dinner. I ignored the small voice at the back of my head telling me I had already done _that_, yesterday. Had it really been less than two days since I'd found out? It seemed as if time had stretched out and the world around me turned grey, all in that short space of time.

Supper was another silent, awkward meal. I was keenly aware of how much I didn't belong at the table with them – for all my carrying Baby Weasley, I was far less a part of the family than Harry and Hermione were. Afterwards, we all cleared the table together, and Molly sent two kids into the kitchen to wash up. She beckoned to me silently, and I followed her into the back garden. The sun was setting, throwing the summer leaves into a blazing glory, a preview of autumn.

We sat down on a wooden bench, and I waited for her to speak.

"The funeral will be on Wednesday," she said abruptly. I drew in a startled breath and turned to her, gripping her hand tightly. She squeezed back. "I know you will want to come, of course. What I wanted to ask you, however…" he voice quivered and she trailed off. "I wanted to ask you," she said more strongly, "if you would say a few words. You're the only one of us who really knew him in the last few years. Even when he was with us, he was always so – closed."

Her words hung in the air like shards of glass, almost close enough to cut. I replied quickly, "Of course, Mrs. Weasley. I'll do my best." I shut my eyes and cursed myself. When would I learn not to say yes to everything? I was terrified of public speaking and crowds. I'd surely embarrass myself and the Weasleys!

But then the guilt rose again and I told myself, _It's the least you can do_. And what's more, I couldn't let any more time pass before telling her the truth. So I took a deep breath, and spoke before I could lose my nerve.

"Mrs. Weasley –"

"Molly, dear."

I gritted my teeth. "Molly, then. I haven't been completely honest with you." Oh God, that made it sound like I had lied. I couldn't look at her. "What I mean is, I never told you _why_ Percy and I broke up in the first place."

A pause. "And why did you, Penelope?"

Oh God. I scrunched my skirt between white fingers. "Because I – I'm pregnant. And Percy… didn't want it." I whispered the last, tensely awaiting the explosion.

None came.

A hand touched my chin, turned my face to hers. She was crying.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," I wept as she took me in her arms, rocking me back and forth as though I was her own child. I burrowed into her warmth and remembered my mother.

-

When we went back inside, joining the rest of the family in the drawing room, I asked them for their attention. Molly had offered to tell them for me, but I had already taken advantage of her that way once. Now I would speak for myself.

I stood before them, and they looked at me from their various positions, piled on the couches or on the floor. There was a steady sort of dread in their eyes, and I didn't blame them for expecting bad news. I had already brought the worst sort of horror into their house. _And what about this? _I asked myself. _Is this bad news too?_

I couldn't wait any longer or I'd lose my nerve, with nine expectant faces waiting for me to speak. I dropped down on the arm of Molly's chair. She squeezed my upper arm, giving me courage. "Percy and I – the reason we broke up, or rather, the reason he left – well." I looked at my hands, feeling myself turn a brilliant red. "I'm expecting a child," I whispered to my lap.

Several gasps sounded in the room. I raised my head to see Ron looking at me. He nodded, once, in approval. I let out a little sigh.

The fireplace erupted in green flame, and a soot-covered redhead tumbled onto the rug.

"Oh, my boy!" Molly crossed the room in two strides, engulfing her son in her ample embrace, as he clung to her unashamedly, much as I had done less than ten minutes before. He was more freckled than I'd remembered, and his face held no trace of the grinning mischief which had seemed to follow him around at Hogwarts. Instead it was a frozen mask of horror and grief. What really struck me were his arms, covered in scars fresh and faded, strong arms which were now embracing his mother as she sobbed. I retrieved a long-forgotten fact: this was Molly's dragon breaker. Her able-bodied knight on a broomstick. It seemed fitting that he was the one who'd finally set off her meltdown.

The rest of the Weasleys came together as well, forming a protective circle around their mother and brother – like a ribcage around a heart.

I turned away from the poignant scene, feeling more alone than ever. It was time for me to go.

"But what will Penny do?" came a shrill voice from behind me. I stopped and turned to see Hermione's anxious face. The girl had always been uncannily adept at making people face unpleasant truths. Beyond her, the Weasleys were breaking out of their tearful huddle to look at me in confusion. I wanted to throttle her. They looked askance at each other, until Molly spoke.

"Why, she'll stay here, of course," she said decisively. Everyone nodded in relief – except Charlie, who looked rather bewildered. I opened my mouth, but found myself incapable of forming speech. Seeing this, Molly hastily amended, "That is, if you'd like to?"

Well. What was I to say to that? A refusal would make me look churlish and ungrateful, but I could think of nothing more lovely at the moment to be gone from all this, to go back to my little flat and cry myself to sleep. But I remembered Healer Stanwick's advice, and for the sake of the baby, smiled. "All right then," I sighed, and saw Molly's face firm with purpose.

The next few minutes were a whirlwind of activity. Before I knew it I was ensconced in Charlie's bedroom; he'd been shunted into Bill's. As she put fresh sheets on the bed, I stammered that I felt awful about kicking Charlie out of his own room, on his first night back.

"Nonsense, dear. They're quite used to sharing, my boys. And we Weasleys never mind being a little closer to each other." _Except Percy_, I thought. It had been stifling for him. Molly pressed my shoulder and turned down the bed. Bathroom's across the landing dear. Let me know if you need anything."

I was quite overwhelmed by such efficient handling; even my own mother had never managed me so well. When I'd agreed to stay, I hadn't meant or expected _immediately_ – I didn't even have a toothbrush. But the earnest look on Molly's face, barely hiding the aching grief below it, stayed my protests, and I thanked her instead.

Once the door had closed behind her, I sank down on the bed, drained. The baby had been draining all my energy lately, and the stress of the last few days had taken its own toll. I knew it wasn't helping, but I couldn't help worrying for the baby – how he or she was taking all this. The healer's words echoed in my mind and I took a deep breath, in and out, trying to consciously release the tension that had knotted my muscles.

No use. Thoughts circled relentlessly in my head. What was I going to do? Ron had been right; once my pregnancy became obvious there was every chance I'd be terminated from my position at the Ministry, and then how would I support my child? And, even if prejudice didn't cause me to lose my job, I would have to quit at some point anyway, when magical travel became to dangerous and work too difficult. I had no idea when that might be. I grimaced at the situation I was in with the Weasleys; true, they hadn't shunned me at learning my secret; I hadn't really expected them to. Still, I couldn't impose on their generosity indefinitely. And I didn't know if I wanted the suffocating expectation that came with being part of such a large family. Hadn't Percy run from just that?

It all came back to Percy. I couldn't escape his memory, or the shadow his death had cast over every aspect of my life. I hadn't even had a chance to grieve properly for him. I was stuck with a sudden foreboding as I remembered the man who had approached me at the office; the memory of his cold black eyes sent a chill down my spine. What did he want? More importantly, what was he hiding? I had sensed something behind that disdainful bearing, something sinister. It was possible he was just an unpleasant man whom I'd seen the last of, but something told me that was wishful thinking. I had learnt to trust my intuition since I'd come to the Wizarding world, and it had flared sharply in warning during my unpleasant encounter with him.

Thinking of the dreadful tangle my life had become, I sighed and wondered if I'd be any happier knowing what lay ahead. The future was far from Unfogged. I could see nothing, and even what clues I had were murky and discouraging, making me hunch my shoulders in dread of the coming day. The only hope I held to was that of the tiny life blooming within me; a life I had pinned all my tired dreams on.

-

Breakfast the next morning was chaotic and strange, at least to an only child like me. I nibbled at some dry toast and watched in queasy amazement as the Weasley sons inhaled mountains of food.

Fred and George had to leave soon after I came downstairs, kissing their mother on opposite cheeks and promising with unusual gravity to be home early. The shop, like any fledgling business, still needed them for long hours, though they were taking off more time than they could probably afford.

Once the breakfast dishes had been cleared in a communal effort, Ron, Harry and Hermione retreated to the living room, talking in low murmurs. Ginny slipped her arm into Bill's as he got up from the table. She dropped her head, her dazzling hair falling into her face, and her tall brother put his arm around her. "Come on, love," he said quietly, leading her out the screen door into the sunny garden. I looked down at the scrubbed floor.

Unfortunately it was Saturday, and I had nowhere to go and no excuse to leave. I lingered at Molly's elbow, not wanting to sit down and seem lazy, but unable to insinuate myself into her whirlwind of activity. I wandered to the table and closed my hands around the back of a wooden chair, watching as Charlie paid and petted the _Daily Prophet_ owl. He grimaced at the front page – giant attacks. I shuddered at the wanton destruction I glimpsed briefly as he flipped to page two. His eyes slid down the newsprint until he froze, his face turning the color of dishwater. I felt a clutch of fear in my throat, that same one we all had these days at the hint of trouble. Who knew what horror lurked around the next corner.

I stepped forward and breathed, "What is it?"

He looked up at me, startled, as if he didn't recognize me for a second. Wordlessly, he pointed at a small black rectangle at the bottom of the page, cutting his eyes at his mother to make sure I didn't catch her attention. I nodded, and read:

_Newly appointed Personal Assistant to the Minister for Magic, Percy Weasley, was killed Monday afternoon in the line of duty. His father, Arthur, works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Percy leaves behind his parents, five brothers and a sister. Our thoughts are with them during this trying time._

There was that barren phrase again – _in the line of duty_. What the hell was that supposed to mean? I hissed out an angry breath, and turned away, crossing my arms and gripping my shoulders tightly.

"What the hell –" I turned back to him, but he made a quelling motion with his hand. _Later_, he mouthed. I closed my mouth and nodded again.

But Molly had noticed the disturbance. "What is it?" she asked, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and walking to the table. Charlie glared at me.

I looked down at the table and saw he had flipped the newspaper closed again. "Giant attacks. You-Know-Who's subverted them, and they're wreaking such havoc." I shivered at the sight of such wholesale, careless destruction. It reminded me of a town made of Lego, stomped to bits by an angry child. Except there were bodies.

Molly followed my gaze, then gave a stiff nod. "Yes, we knew about that right after it happened. It was terrible… all those children –"

I looked at her in surprise. "You knew? But how…"

She exchanged a grim glance with her son. "Arthur works at the Ministry," she said to me.

_So do I_, I almost said, but it was abundantly clear that she didn't want to tell me whatever secret they were hiding.

Arthur walked in then, catching his wife's last statement. "I certainly do. And what's that got to do with anything?"

Molly smiled at him with sad eyes. "Nothing, dear." He walked to her and took her work-roughened hand in his, pressed it. She leaned into him. I looked away, meeting Charlie's gaze for an awkward moment, then dropped my eyes to the floor.

I was going to make a quiet exit when his voice brought me up short. "Mum tells me you're pregnant." I jerked in surprise and met his gaze. What was this, revenge?

"And what business is it of yours?" I snapped, my temper flaring. Molly stirred in my peripheral vision, but I kept my attention on Charlie.

"I'm going to be an uncle, aren't I?" he asked mildly.

I flushed. He had made me seem unreasonable and rude. "I – yes. Sorry, my nerves are shredded."

A pause. "What are you going to do?"

I sighed, pushing back the curly black hair that had fallen into my eyes. "I don't know."

Molly's hand came down on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "You're welcome to stay here. Forever, if you like." I opened my mouth, then closed it, unable to respond.

Charlie looked at me with some understanding. "Mum, that's no solution to her problems. The Ministry doesn't look kindly on unwed mothers, even I know that." He looked across the table at Arthur, who agreed.

Molly huffed and came around to stand next to me. "Well, then, Penelope doesn't need to stay there to be harassed by those idiots."

"I suppose I'll have to find another job. But no one hires during wartime. I doubt there are any non-government openings available."

"There aren't," put in Arthur. "I have reliable sources on that."

I bit my lip, dismayed. I hadn't had a strong hope of finding another job, but it had been _something_. Now I was facing a dead end. I lifted a shaking hand to my forehead. How would I pay my rent? And with the baby coming – the hospital bills – "What am I going to do?" I murmured almost to myself. "I can't afford to be out of work, now more than ever…"

"Oh, Penny, you don't have to worry about that," said Molly. "We'll take care of everything. You're a part of the family now. Leave everything to us."

I gaped at her, and so did Charlie. For one thing, I knew the Weasleys couldn't afford it. For another – well, I was just stunned. Touched, but stunned.

"Mum," said Charlie incredulously, "You can't be serious!"

But she was. I could see it in her face.

"Why ever not?" Molly asked her son.

He let out a frustrated breath. "Mum, she's a grown woman, not a lost child. You can't ask her to give up her whole life and come live here with you."

Molly blinked, then looked at me with chagrin. "Oh, dear. Is that what I was doing?"

I turned red. Charlie was right, but I couldn't bear to hurt her feelings.

She smiled brokenly and sank into a chair. "I'm sorry dear. It seems all my instincts are off these days." She looked exhausted, and near tears.

I exchanged a stricken look with Charlie. He sprang up and put his arm around her, looking miserable and guilty. "No. Mum, that's not what I meant." He ran a hand over his short red hair. "We just – Penelope needs to make her own decisions."

I dropped to my knees in front of Molly's chair. "You're treating me like one of your own children." I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. "I can't tell you how much that means to me." I squeezed her hand. "But I can't ask you to shoulder my responsibilities. It wouldn't be right of me to let you. But I'm just – so humbled by the fact that you offered."

Molly raised her hand then and touched my cheek. Her fingers were rough and warm. She smiled slowly. "All right, then."

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This was a difficult chapter to write, and I'm not sure it's up to my usual standard. Let me know what you guys think. 


	5. Eulogy

**AN:** Hi guys. Really sorry for the loong delay. A lot has happened; basically I was severely poisoned by pesticides and ill to the point of death, and I've spent the last five months recovering. I'm still not well, though I am much better. It will be a long process. Keep me in your thoughts. I don't know when I can have the next chapter up; I'll do my best. I love you all.**  
**

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**A Virtue of Necessity**

**Chapter 4 – Eulogy**

Sunday was quiet. I spent a lot of time walking around Ottery St. Catchpole, finding a basic sort of comfort in the Muggle town. I found a tiny bookshop and went in, a bell jingling merrily over my head as I moved through the doorway. Walking slowly between the teetering shelves of books, I ran my hands along the dusty spines.

I made my way to the small table in the back and sank into the comfortable armchair next to it, remembering the long hours I'd spent in my childhood in a small-town bookshop just like this, discovering worlds of knowledge and adventure in the printed page. There were no house-elves dusting the bookshelves, no twirling, glowing models of the solar system. Only peace, and books, and the proverbial kindly old shopkeeper. I wondered if the Weasleys' noise and clamour had ever disturbed this sanctuary.

Later, sitting in a shady spot near the pond with an ice cream bar I had enjoyed as a child, I contemplated the familiar logo and the comfort of reliving childhood pleasures. The taste brought memories of chasing down the ice cream truck as it passed through with the other kids in the neighbourhood, of skinned knees and summer and running wild from dawn to dusk. Remembering little Penny, I scarcely recognized myself in her. I had become serious, wary, after coming to Hogwarts, though also more confident of my abilities. Falling in love with Percy had made me even less prone to flights of fancy, and all too soon I was a Professional Young Adult. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had an ice cream outdoors, with my bare toes digging into the grass, and the sound of splashing ducks nearby.

Folding up the sticky wrapper and putting it in my purse to toss later, I lay back in the grass and gazed at the sky, remembering the early days with Percy, when he had been earnest and gawky, and I skinny and studious, each of us blindly, breathlessly in love with the other.

I fell asleep there in the sun, dreaming of our first kiss.

-

The next day I went to work and tried to stick to my normal routine, as if nothing had changed. My efforts were rendered useless as soon as I stepped into my cubicle on the first morning.

"Penny!" cried Sarah. "Oh, Penny, I heard about Percy." Her eyes were wide and anguished. "I'm _so_ sorry."

I looked down and swallowed the lump in my throat. "Thanks Sarah," I responded after a moment. She was an oddball, but she was genuine, and I found myself thankful for that. I gave her a small smile. "So. What's the crisis today?"

For once she got the hint, and dropped the subject. I worked all day as I had the previous week, with grim diligence, not stopping for lunch or conversation. There were no major crises, only routine paperwork, so that by the end of the day I had phrases like _Please state your reasons for requesting a new Floo connection_ floating across my vision at regular intervals, and I wanted nothing more than my own soft bed.

Instead I went to Molly's and slept in Charlie's old one.

-

I was coming down the stairs on Tuesday when I heard Molly's voice, shrill and strained, coming from the kitchen.

" – but you must, Charlie! The war is getting serious now, and you know the Romanian government is known for its shady dealings. I worry about you, surrounded by strange dark wizards – "

"There are no dark wizards at the preserve, Mum," came Charlie's voice. "Just my colleagues and dirty great fire-breathing dragons."

His attempt at humour fell flat. "Oh, and how much do you really know about these colleagues of yours? They could be Death Eaters for all you know!"

Charlie's voice was calm. "Mum, even if I were working in England, there'd be just as much of a chance that I'd encounter a Death Eater – more, in fact. You-Know-Who is based here, after all."

There was a sudden _bang_, as of a hand hitting the table hard. I jumped.

"I just want you _home_! I want all my babies in the same place, at least. I know I can't take care of you all, but at least I'd see you more often than once a month and know you're still _alive_ – " she broke off, and seemed to sob once, quietly. I clenched my fingers together. Was this pain felt by all mothers? Would I feel this way once my baby was born?

My hand went to my flat stomach, and I crept quietly back up the stairs, the sound of Molly's low sobs following me.

-

That afternoon, I was changing out of my work robes when a tapping sounded at the window. I looked up to see a nondescript brown owl, of the sort the Ministry uses, petitioning for entry. My gut clenched in dread. Slowly, I walked to the window and lifted the glass. Attached to the owl's leg was a lumpy envelope. The owl was long gone by the time I could bring myself to open it. A piece of paper fell out, and a small brown box. To my relief, there was no Ministry letterhead, only a brief letter penned in a neat hand.

_Dear Miss Clearwater,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. The attached package contains all of Percy's personal effects from his office. (The box is one cubic metre when enlarged; simply tap it twice with your wand and stand back.) He told me not two months before his death that if anything should happen to him, I was to pack up his things posthaste and owl them to you. I apologize for the delay. I have no excuse, except I couldn't believe he was gone. _

_He was a good friend to me. I am terribly sorry for your loss. _

_Please let me know if I can do anything further to help. _

_Sincerely,_

_Malcolm McTavish _

_P. S. Please don't think too badly of him. He did his best._

I stared, then read it again. And still had no idea what to make of it. The letter was straightforward enough, if abrupt, but what on earth did the man mean by his postscript? And more importantly, if they were such good friends, why had I never heard his name? _He told me… if anything should happen to him…_ I shuddered. Had Percy anticipated his own death? And if so, why?

Hands trembling, I closed the window and sat down on the narrow bed. Something very strange was going on here. Suddenly I recalled the unpleasant man who had approached me at the Ministry. Was he somehow involved? I dropped the letter and shook my head violently. _Stop being so melodramatic. There's a war on, _everyone's_ anticipating their deaths._ The grief and the hormones were turning me into a paranoid freak. Dismissing the matter from my mind, I put away the letter and the unopened box in my trunk and went downstairs to help Molly with dinner.

-

Wednesday dawned indecently clear and beautiful. I had taken the day off for the funeral, which would be held at ten o'clock, in a small graveyard a short distance from the Burrow, hidden from Muggles in the usual way.

When I opened my eyes, it took only a moment before I felt a sudden weight pressing on my chest, pinning me to the bed. The weight of grief, and the weight of what I was about to do. Bury my Percy, lay him in the ground with my paltry words floating over his insensible head. It was too much – I wished bitterly that I had refused Molly. It would have been wrenching enough to stand quietly beside his family, rigid and silent; to speak about him as he passed to the next world was something I was both unworthy and unwilling to do.

I took deep breaths until the crushing wave of grief had receded somewhat, and forced my self out of bed. Stumbling over to the dresser where I had put the clothes I'd brought from my flat, I took out a black blouse and a long grey skirt I'd set aside for today.

Stripping out of my pyjamas, I pulled on my underthings and then my clothes with clumsy fingers. Taking a deep breath, I brushed my hair in slow, even strokes, focusing all my attention the mechanical task. I raised my eyes to the mirror to see my pale face, gaunt and wide-eyed, pinched and pained and haunted. The sight of my own despair made it emerge sharply from the dull fog I had been keeping myself in. With a sudden cry, I threw the hairbrush against the far wall with a thump, and fell down on my knees, clutching my head. A strange keening noise came from my throat, and hot tears burned my eyes and fell onto my skirt. Darkness seemed to cover me. Percy was gone, and with him my dreams; my baby had no father, and no one to care for him but a frail and cowardly girl; the war was slowly taking everyone with indiscriminate violence; I was alone and the world was falling down around me.

I did not know how much time passed before I returned to my senses. I got up stiffly from my crouch on the ground, uncaring of the ache in my knees, and walked to the door. I took a long, shuddering breath. Solitude suddenly seemed an unbearable prison, and I needed the distraction of others around me. I grasped the doorknob and pulled the door open with a wrench.

A wide-eyed Charlie Weasley stared at me in chagrin.

I froze in horror. Had he heard me, wailing like a lost child? As if I was the only one grieving in this house? I thought of Molly, and felt ashamed. I opened and closed my mouth in silence, aware that my face was red and tear-stained, my hair probably tangled. Finally I said hoarsely, "Good morning," and closed my eyes at how false that was.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

I looked at him. His eyes were dark and shadowed, and his face pale under his freckles. Deep brackets of strain showed around his mouth. I made a helpless fluttering gesture with one hand.

His lips thinned. "Of course not." Looking down, he said, "I meant, can I help you with anything?" It was a futile request, and we both knew it, but there was real kindness in his voice, and so I bit back my initial sharp refusal.

"No, but thank you. I was just… going down." He nodded, gesturing for me to go ahead, but I hung back, lowering my head. So I followed him down the creaky staircase, his broad back filling my vision.

We walked to the graveyard after a silent breakfast, walking in an unsteady train, Molly and Arthur in the front, holding hands. I was at the end, watching the heels of Ginny's shoes swing forward and back. The cemetery itself was small and quiet, with trees all around it. The pale grey headstones glowed in the summer sunlight, and the grass was green and bright from a recent rainfall. My breath hitched at the sight of the closed coffin, a long plain box of polished wood the colour of Percy's wand. I wondered if that was a coincidence. _Does the coffin choose the wizard?_ I thought morbidly, then pushed away the thought with a shudder.

No one had visited us since the publication on Percy's obituary in the Prophet. Harry and Hermione had stayed away, partly out of respect and partly, I suspected, because they couldn't face our grief. I couldn't blame them. I myself was functioning somewhat normally only because of an enforced numbness that didn't allow the pain to enter my mind – except for those sudden onslaughts of emotion that left me gasping – but I too felt awkward and useless in the face of the Weasleys' anguish. There was no comfort with such loss, nothing to say or do that would soften the devastating blow.

Fleur Delacour, Bill's fiancée, had been planning to come and stay for the summer, but those plans had been postponed indefinitely.

But though we were the first ones in the empty graveyard, soon afterward people began arriving: first the Lovegoods, who lived in the town as well; Professor Dumbledore, looking older and grimmer than usual; Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister himself; Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, moving to flank Ron protectively; Fleur, looking pale and sad and disturbingly lovely; and a few young men about Percy's age that looked vaguely familiar. I gulped and clutched the small piece of paper in my hand. I was to speak in front of _all_ these people?

Suddenly we were standing facing the coffin, and the moment was upon us. Ginny laid her bouquet of white lilies tenderly on the lid, and Arthur cleared his throat.

"Thank you for coming," he said quietly. "We appreciate your support in this time of – great loss to our family." He took a shaky breath, then gestured towards me. "Penelope, if you will."

I stood frozen, staring at the box holding Percy's dead body. The speech I had prepared was gone from my head as if it had never been. I had no idea what to say, no words to express the huge, throbbing knot of grief lodged in my throat.

The silence stretched. I took a shuddering breath and stepped forward, laying my hand on the shiny wood. This was the hardest thing I had ever done; but I had to do it, for the Weasleys standing bereft behind me, who had lost so much of Percy even before his death, and had never truly known him even when they had him. I had to give him back to them, as far as I could.

But I was too much of a coward to look at them while I did it. I slid my wand from my pocket and touched it to my throat with a whispered "_Sonorus_".

"Percy." I winced at the sound of my own hoarse voice, cleared my throat. "Percy Weasley was a man who was fierce in his loyalty to what he believed in." I felt more than heard his family's disbelief behind me, but ploughed on. "He was also incredibly independent-minded. He wanted to choose his own path, his own mission, and once it was done, it was his forever. He would not budge from his course. This made him stubborn, yes; a family trait, I think we can all agree." I put on a half-smile and turned to face the Weasleys. They looked pale, hollow-eyed… lost. I took a deep breath and continued, "He was unable at times to see how this mislead him. He could be self-righteous. But he was also bright, and shy, and earnest." My voice broke. "He was intelligent, and dignified, and in quiet moments, unexpectedly and terribly sweet. And I loved him. _I loved him_. I don't regret one single moment of that love." I dropped my head, hiding my face from the miserable weight of eyes upon me. I couldn't see for the tears that had risen with breathtaking swiftness.

Suddenly dizzy, I clutched hard onto the solid weight of wood, my wand in my right hand, Percy's coffin under my left.

Someone with strong arms and red hair hugged me; and then another, and another.

-

I was sitting at my desk at the Ministry a few days later when he approached me again – the dark stranger who had offered his dubious condolences. This time he said nothing at first, only stood imperiously next to my desk, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I signed the paperwork I was completing with exaggerated care, then raised my head to look at him.

"How can I help you?" I asked with a bare minimum of civility, gesturing toward the chair by my desk.

He sneered at me from above; I suspected he enjoyed looking down at people. "It has come to my attention, Miss Clearwater, that there has been an administrative error of sorts. I am sure that a conscientious Ministry worker such as yourself will be pleased to assist in correcting it."

I wanted to roll my eyes at his excessively bureaucratic language. Smiling politely, I responded, "What kind of error are you talking about, Mr… I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"That is because I never gave it to you," he said curtly. "It appears that the late Percy Weasley's former office has been prematurely cleared, without Ministry approval."

Well. What on earth was this? I pretended to consider his words, then frowned, trying to give an impression of innocent confusion. "Do you mean to say that there are official documents missing? That there was Ministry property removed?"

He looked disgruntled. "No, there was no… official paperwork, per se."

I shrugged. "Well, then, I see no problem. Obviously Percy's personal belongings have been delivered to his family already; standard procedure, I expect. I see no need for Ministry clearance in such a case."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "It does not matter what you _see the need_ for, Clearwater," he hissed, "and furthermore, as _you_ are the listed next of kin for Weasley, his things would in fact go to you."

"Again, I must ask, what exactly is the problem?"

He clenched his fists, then relaxed them with a visible effort. "The Ministry cannot run efficiently without the proper procedure and documentation. You know this." He gestured at the neatly completed Floo Req. form on my desk. "But Weasley's office has been emptied without any filing of paperwork, no official inspection to speak of!"

I was starting to feel distinctly bullied. He had, once again, approached me when the office was rather deserted, and I was lost as to how to get rid of him. Besides, I was dying of curiosity. What did he want to root through Percy's stuff for? What had been his relationship to Percy? And who the hell _was_ he anyway? I thought hard, then said, "If what you say is true, sir, then I am as much at a loss as you are, for it seems as Percy's next of kin I should have received his belongings, which are apparently gone for good, who knows where." He watched me with his hard black eyes. I couldn't tell if he had bought it or not.

I put a hand to my forehead and closed my eyes with unfeigned weariness. "I'm sorry I can't help you. But really, there's a war on. There are much more important things to worry about."

I stayed that way until I heard his heavy footsteps receding, then laid my head on my desk.

What on earth had Percy been up to?

-

Next Saturday I finally opened the box Malcolm McTavish had sent me. I couldn't put it off forever, and my encounter with the mysterious man had me wondering what on earth was in there to merit such pursuit.

I locked Charlie's bedroom door – I supposed it was my bedroom now, but I couldn't think of it that way – and sat on the floor with the miniaturized box in front of me. Two taps of the wand. I took a deep breath, tapped, and moved back as the tiny cube grew and grew until it was a meter square.

Heart pounding, I moved forward and slit the Spellotape along the top with my wand.

There was a mess of things inside, more than I had expected actually, as Percy had never been the sort to accumulate belongings. There were the expected cartons of papers – not official Ministry documents, of course, but Percy's habitual copious notes documenting everything he did at work. I took those out and set them aside.

There was a battered chess set, a large pile of books with titles like _Rising to the Top with Magical Ease_, and_ Annals of the Ministry of Magic_. One was called _The Burden of Visionary Ambition_; I closed my eyes for moment. At the bottom I saw the ragged copy of _Prefects Who Gained Power_ that I had given him for his birthday in sixth year, and didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I moved on.

The rest was mostly innocuous: extra parchment; a profusion of quills both old and new, and some even broken and ragged; bottles of ink in various colours; awards of excellence from the Ministry that he had displayed proudly on his office walls; a packet of letters tied up with a beige ribbon, which peaked my interest at first but turned out to be dull messages from the disgraced Fudge; and various other odds and ends one would expect to find in an office.

At the bottom of the box, in one corner, was a lumpy bundle of something. I reached in and picked it up, and when I brought into the light I saw that it was something soft wrapped in brightly coloured Christmas paper. It looked as if someone had abused it; it was torn in spots, and crumpled, but still unopened. I debated with my conscience for a moment, then gave in and unwrapped it, removing the tape carefully as was my habit.

It was clothing, with a note pinned on the front.

_Oi Wanker,_

_We know you're a traitorous bugger, but even we're amazed that you could return this. Mum cried for hours. And on bloody __Christmas__. You fucker. I guess you really were switched at birth. No way a Weasley could be that much of a rotten bastard to his own family. We don't care what you do with this, but don't return it again, or we'll hunt you down and drive that stick that's up your arse straight up into your defective brain._

_F&G_

I dropped the note on the floor, feeling nauseous, and unfolded what I already knew would be a Weasley jumper. It was lovely and soft, a golden colour I knew would have looked wonderful on Percy, with a large brown P on the front. I crushed it to my face and sobbed, once, without tears. It smelled like Molly.

Fiercely, I thought, _His child is going to love you enough for two grandmothers, Molly. I promise._

It was chilly that night. I wore Percy's jumper to bed.


End file.
